


Charlie Barber Prompts

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Angst, Car Sex, Choking, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wax Play, breath play, domme!Reader, electric play, ruined orgasm, sub!Charlie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 21,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24388792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: A collection of short Charlie Barber prompts.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	1. Wedding Night

**Author's Note:**

> These are short prompts posted over on my [tumblr](https://direnightshade.tumblr.com/).

He never thought he’d see the day again; the day that he’d be standing, surrounded by friends and family while he watched the woman of his dreams walk down the aisle towards him. But then _you’d_ come along, and there you were in your ivory dress, train trailing behind you as you stepped closer and closer to him.

The mere thought brings a tear to his eye, even now as he’s peering down at you, your face flushed and lips swollen from the multitude of kisses he’d delivered. _You’re so beautiful_ , he thinks to himself, with your hair fanned out across the pillow. “I love you,” he whispers, the words shaky as he gives another languid roll of his hips.

You respond with a soft sigh, the merging with the moan that’s quick to follow, your eyelids fluttering shut only briefly while your back arches up off of the bed. “Charlie,” is all you can manage to say when he draws his hips back, stopping when only the head of his cock is sheathed inside you. He loves this, watching the way your face contorts with the sheer pleasure you experience when he thrusts forward, burying himself in you; loves the noises you make and the way you call his name.

His hand reaches for you now, palm gliding along the column of your throat and up to the side of your face. You lean into his touch, head turning just enough to capture his thumb in your mouth, and he swears he could cum from that image of you alone. The swipe of your tongue along the pad of his thumb and the gentle nipping of teeth is unmistakable, and when you finally release him, you do so with the slightest little smirk.

“I love you,” you whisper back to him finally, head clear enough to make your reply. Charlie leans down and worries the skin of your neck between his teeth, pulling more moans from you just as he rocks his hips against yours yet again.

No, he didn’t ever think he’d be here again, happy and sated, and _married_. But he’s glad that he is, and he’s glad that it’s _you_.


	2. Kissing At Red Lights

A trip away from the city, that’s what Charlie had promised you at the start of the month; a trip for just the two of you up to Piermont. You’d been going on and on for weeks about The Riverview, a small B&B you’d stumbled across online, and he’d made a mental note to take take you there. He’d finally had a free weekend, no rehearsals, no meetings, nothing but the two of you and an escape out of the city.

It had been the perfect weekend, the two of you taking full advantage of there being absolutely nothing for you to do, opting to remain in bed for the majority of your stay. It was nice, getting away with him and having Charlie all to yourself for a full weekend. Moments like these are rare, you know, given his career, but he makes the effort, and for that you’re grateful.

But now, it’s back to reality as the two of you head south again towards the city, your hand clasped in his while he drives down Route 9. Even now, he’s taking the long route back home, because like you, he doesn’t want this bubble of yours to burst. Not yet. Not so soon.

The car rolls to a stop at one of the many lights that dots the small highway, the red of the light illuminating your features in the dark of night. Charlie can’t help but take this brief moment to admire you, but of course you swivel your head to look at him too, and that makes him smile. He leans over then, and you’re quick to catch the drift, meeting him halfway over the console that separates your seats to kiss him.

He does this at every red light the two of you come across, and there are a lot, not that you’re one to complain. How could you when this is only drawing out your time away? You’ll reach the city soon enough, and these moments will end, but you’ll take each one that he gives you until that time comes.


	3. Taking A Bath

“What’s all this?” Charlie’s hands are on his hips, eyes cast downward to the multitude of neon colors merging and mixing together in various spots to turn the bath water pink.

“That,” you say, stepping up behind him to wind your arms around his waist, hands working to undo his belt while you rest your face against the middle of his back, “is a bath bomb.”

The cardigan he wears is soft against your cheek, and you can feel the muscles of his back twitch with the chuckle that escapes him. “Bath bomb, huh?” One of his hands leaves his hips to gently trail along your arm while you slip the belt from his slacks, dropping it to the floor before you work on undoing the button and zipper, humming in acknowledgement of his response.

You take turns undressing one another, and once each garment has fallen to the floor, Charlie lets you settle into the warm bath before following suit. It’s cramped, to say the least, thanks in large part to his stature, but the two of you manage to make it work nonetheless. Your back presses up against his chest, and your head is tucked beneath his chin, his arms wrapped securely around you beneath the water’s surface. It’s peaceful here in the quiet of the room, the only sound that of the occasional sloshing of water when one of you moves.

It’s nice, he thinks, being here with you like this, the two of you just soaking up each other’s presence and unwinding from the day. He supposes that the smell of whatever you’d added to the bath certainly helps, notes of lavender and ylang ylang wafting up to fill the room, helping to create a relaxing atmosphere.

He smiles to himself each time your foot emerges from the water to tap the handle above the faucet, spilling more warm water into the tub. Charlie knows you love this, love simple, tender moments like this with him; that you don’t want to get out, that you want to stay in the bath with him as long as possible. He lets you, of course; doesn’t dare make any moves to end things prematurely. He’s on your time now, and he’ll stay here with you for as long as you desire.


	4. Caring For You While Ill

Steam rises up from the plain white porcelain mug that Charlie’s just set down onto the nightstand. “Tea,” he says softly while the back of his fingertips graze along your sweat-slicked forehead.

He doesn’t really need to do this, gauge your temperature with his hand. You’ve been running a fever the better part of a day now, and you’re still shivering beneath the duvet of the bed you share.

“I don’t want it.” Your voice is hoarse, stomach turning at the thought of anything, tea or otherwise, coming near your mouth. It’s just the flu, the doctor had said as much, but you haven’t had it this bad in a long, long time. Everything aches, the fever just keeps coming, and you’ve barely managed to keep a single thing down since it all started. And even still, Charlie is right there to wait on you hand and foot, even going so far as to cancel any and all things related to his play until you’re feeling better; something he doesn’t even do for himself when he’s sick.

But you’re different, and he wants you well. Needs it to be so.

“I know,” he whispers, fingers now sweeping back the hair from your face, mattress springs groaning in protest when he leans over to press his lips to your forehead. “Get some sleep. When you wake up, give it a try.”

He’s persistent, your Charlie, and so you nod, conceding to his wishes. He smiles, leaning back to get one last look at you before he rises up from his spot on the bed. He’ll start with the tea and graduate to chicken noodle soup, and if you’re able to keep that down, then it’ll be onto food with much more substance. Turning, he leaves you to sleep, keeping the door cracked open when he steps out of the room, but never going longer than half an hour without checking on you.


	5. A Terrible Date

Of all the places that Charlie could have taken you to, a cooking class is bottom of the barrel as far as you’re concerned. Romantic? Sure, in theory. If you both loved to cook, that is. Truth be told, you’re not a bad cook. In fact, far from it. But Charlie’s been dying to hone his skills, and he thinks this could be _fun_. Fun? Sure, for him, maybe. It certainly would have been more palatable (pun intended) had it been a private class with just the two of you. But there’s a whole large group here, and there’s too many people in this kitchen. This has to be a code violation, right?

You’re doing this for Charlie, you remind yourself, even in spite of how much you’re loathing this right now. Maybe, _just maybe_ , the night won’t be so bad …

No, of course not. Because nothing can ever be easy in scenarios like this. You’ve lost count of how many times you all had to pause due to someone cutting their finger or spilling contents from their pots and pans; one of them, a pot of scalding noodles, nearly missing Charlie as it clatters to the floor. Then there’s the towel that catches fire, sending the all too sensitive smoke alarms off, which in turns kicks on the sprinklers, dousing everyone in water.

Horrible, you think. Comical, Charlie says.

In the end, you decide that he’s right, the two of you laughing about the disastrous date over a bottle of wine in Charlie’s apartment. You’ll try again, because why wouldn’t you? Only Charlie can turn such a horrendous night into something good.


	6. Beating Charlie At Monopoly

“No way! No _fucking_ way!” A hand slams down onto the table, rattling the pieces that have been carefully placed along the monopoly board. You watch as Charlie’s face reddens, a single brow raised while you lift the rim of your glass of water up to your mouth, taking a long, slow sip. “You _cheated_!”

The accusation causes you to splutter into your water, the surface rippling just before you set the glass down and place both palms flat against the surface of the table. “The fuck I did,” you respond, feeling yourself beginning to grow just as heated as Charlie now. “I’m plenty of things, but a cheater I am not. This was won fair and square. Just admit it, Barber, you’ve met your match.” By now you’ve lifted a hand, finger pointing in his direction, the angered tone quickly shifting to that of smugness.

He says nothing at that at first, instead allowing his gaze to fall to the pieces on the board and the lack of funds which have effectively bankrupted him. You can see the wheels turning, and he’s trying _so hard_ to figure out how you’d won _again_. “We’re going again,” he says, his eyes lifting back to you now.

But your head shakes, and the refusal to play a third round causes his scowl to morph into a pout of disapproval. Only then do you rise up from your seat and round the table to squeeze yourself between him and table, worming your way onto his lap. “There’s always tomorrow,” you offer, your hand lifting to gently cup his cheek and direct his attention back down to you rather than the spot you’d just vacated. After a long pause, he concedes, his head nodding. “Good.” You lean up to deliver a chaste kiss before speaking again. “Now … Loser gets to clean up this mess.”


	7. Adjusting Charlie's Tie

An agitated sound rumbles from deep within Charlie’s chest while he fidgets with his tie in front of the mirror that hangs on the wall above the dresser. It had taken him far too long (at least ten minutes!) to find a tie that he felt matched his suit appropriately. He hates dressing up. In fact, the last time that he had to dress up this much was during his court battle with Nicole, and it’s that thought along with his sudden issue with tying his tie that has him grumbling and mumbling to himself.

The slight uptick of the corners of your mouth as you stand beside him, using the mirror to aid you in putting in your earrings, doesn’t go unnoticed by him. But he says nothing still as he continues to work on his tie. It isn’t until he huffs that you turn to face him, hand lifting to settle against his own to stop his fruitless movements.

“Let me see,” you tell him, gently coaxing him to face you. He does as you ask, his hands falling down at his sides while your own make quick work of the tie.

Sliding the knot upwards until it’s seated perfectly at the collar of his dress shirt, you give the silky material a tug to pull Charlie down to your level. His hands reach for you, settling against your hips and pulling you closer while he follows your lead, leaning down to kiss you with a hum of contentment.

“You look amazing,” he whispers against your lips, eliciting a smile on your part.

Giving him a kiss in response, you pull away just enough to look up at him, your hands releasing their hold on his tie to smooth out the lapels of his suit jacket. “So do you. You should wear a suit more often.”

Charlie huffs a laugh at the remark, but maybe the suggestion isn’t such a bad one, he thinks. If it’ll replace the less desirable memories with ones that the two of you are sure to make tonight, then maybe, _just maybe_ , he’ll do just that.


	8. Stay

The pads of your fingertips skim along Charlie’s palm as you step away from him, the two of you trying to hold onto the physical contact for as long as you can. It isn’t until the ends of your fingers catch on his that you feel the tug of resistance.

The two of you smile at one another, and you huff out a gentle laugh as you relent and step back closer towards him. As your hands lower, his fingers lace with yours while his other hand lifts to cup the side of your face. He draws you in for another kiss, his lips lingering on yours when he speaks. “ **Stay here tonight.** ”

His voice is but a whisper, the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth now transferring to you, your head nodding slightly. “Okay,” you whisper in return.

As if you’d ever turn him down. 


	9. You're Worth It

Charlie’s gaze lifts from his phone just in time to see you stride down the carpeted path that leads you directly to the table he’d reserved for the two of you. Stuffing the device in his jacket pocket, he rises up from his spot at the table, and leans in to meet you halfway for a kiss. “You really didn’t have to do this,” you say as you take a seat across from him.

He’s smiling over at you, a shoulder shrugging. He knows how much you’ve wanted to come here to Le Barnardin. You’ve mentioned it a handful of times, so when you’d finally gotten that promotion at work, it gave Charlie the perfect opportunity to reserve a table. “You’re worth it,” he replies, reaching for your hand just as you do the same.

It’s funny, you think to yourself, how in tune the two of you are with one another; always reaching for each other at the same times, always needing that contact, no matter how small. His thumb brushes along your knuckles, and only when the waiter arrives with the bottle of Zinfandel Charlie had ordered prior to your arrival, do your hands separate.

“You deserve it,” he says, following up his previous statement. “You work hard, clearly. I thought it was only fair you get to revel in it and celebrate.”

You don’t know it just yet, but Charlie’s got a little surprise for when the two of you return home. He’d snuck around behind your back, calling some of your closest friends to plan a little impromptu surprise party. He’d even gone so far as to fly in your parents from out of town. A promotion might not seem like much, but it’s cause enough for Charlie to go above and beyond to celebrate you and all the work you put in. Because, to him, you _are_ worth it.


	10. You Feel Like Home

He doesn’t know just what, particularly, about you makes him feel the way that he’s feeling right now. Maybe it’s the comforting, fruity scent that always seems to surround you thanks to your shampoo. Or perhaps it’s how warm and inviting you are to everyone around you, always wanting to make sure that everyone feels included. There’s that smile of yours too, the one that lights up any room that you walk into.

Maybe it isn’t one thing in particular that makes him feel this way. Maybe it’s everything about you, all wrapped up into one charismatic, loving package. But regardless of whatever it may be that’s making him feel like he’s feeling now, he knows this one thing …

“ **You’ve always felt like home** ,” he says, presenting a small black velveteen box. Shaky hands pry it open as gently as he can possibly muster, taking great care not to disturb the ring that he now puts on full display for you. “Marry me?”


	11. The Locket

The door to the apartment swings open to reveal a smiling Charlie, and his appearance has you doing a double take from your spot on the couch. Gaze sweeping to the clock to check the time, you look back to where he is, now slipping off his shoes and shutting the door.

“You’re home early,” you say, now shifting to push yourself up off of the couch to step towards him. He meets you halfway between the living room and the entryway, the smile still present. “Why are you smiling like that?” It’s not unusual for Charlie to smile, not around you. But the way he’s smiling, and his lack of response to your initial statement has you suspicious, but smiling yourself none the less.

“I got you a little something,” he finally says, hand moving to the satchel he carries with him, flipping open the leather flap to slip a hand inside. When he pulls his hand out, he allows the flap to drop back down, now holding out a long, thin white box to you.

Opening it in front of him while he removes the satchel from his body, setting it down, he watches you with a look of excitement and anticipation. Pulling off the lid, you’re greeted by the sight of a thin gold chain that carries a small brass ball that looks to be— “A locket,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. “I know it doesn’t look like much. But go on, open it.”

You do as he says, gingerly pulling the necklace from the box, handing it off to him as you open the small brass charm, revealing a thin piece of paper with a message written on it. You can barely make out what it says, thanks to Charlie’s less than stellar penmanship, but you still smile none the less. ‘Surprise’, says the paper alongside a tiny smiley face inked in pen.

“I know how much you like it when I leave you little notes, and I saw that while I was out today. Thought it was serendipitous,” he says with a slight shrug of his shoulder.

“It’s perfect,” you say breathily, turning your back to him as you unclasp the necklace and hold it up for him. “Put it on?”

He lifts a hand to sweep your hair over one of your shoulders before he takes the necklace from you, clasping it with ease. As you adjust your hair, freeing it from the chain to allow it to cascade down your back, he sets his hands on your shoulders and gives a gentle squeeze as he leans in to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you,” he whispers.

Leaning back into him, you smile, relishing in his touch and his affection. “I love you too, Charlie.”


	12. Fun In The Sun

Charlie’s been thinking about this all day, you bobbing in the waves while being held in his arms. It started the moment you’d asked him to apply sunscreen to your back, helping to reach the spots that you couldn’t. But then you’d untied your top, and his thoughts went south from there.

The two of you eventually found your way into the ocean, playfully splashing one another and him lifting you effortlessly to toss you into the oncoming waves. Now he’s got you held securely in his arms, feet planted on the sandy ocean floor with your legs wrapped around his waist. With each roll of the waves towards the shore, Charlie rocks his hips up towards yours, sinking deeper into you before he draws out with the pull of the waves. It’s a slow, torturous feeling, but you love it all the same, and he thinks if ever there were a way for him to go, it’s in this very moment with you.


	13. Do You Need A Place To Stay?

Charlie is nothing, if not a gentleman. So when he sees you struggling two doors down, hand jiggling a doorknob that just won’t turn, your other one pounding uselessly at the door, he just can’t help but step in. “Everything alright down there,” he asks while he slides his key into the deadbolt, unlocking it with ease.

He watches as the corners of your mouth pull downward into a frown, head shaking from side to side just before you sigh in exasperation. “Locked myself out,” you reply, returning your attention to the door, giving the doorknob another little jiggle as if it’ll magically unlock itself.

The two of you had interacted a number of times before, all in small doses; a passing wave and greeting in the hallway, small talk while you both got your mail from your respective boxes. You’d been plenty kind to him, and as he pushes open his door, he decides that’s enough to extend an invitation. He nods his head towards the interior of his apartment, locking eyes with you when you look back over to him. “ **Do you need a place to stay for tonight?** You’re welcome to stay here.”

There’s a long pause before you finally relent and nod your head, the soles of your shoes scuffing against the linoleum floor until you arrive at his door. With a wave he ushers you inside, following behind to close the door. That Charlie’s a gentleman alright, and first thing tomorrow morning he’ll call the landlord and have your door opened back up before you even wake up.


	14. Meet Cute

Messy. That’s the first word that comes to your mind when you see yourself in the reflection of the coffee shop window. It’s a windy day in the city, which means your hair is well and truly fucked. But you’re never one to give up, no. Pivoting, you turn and face your reflection, huffing out a breath of displeasure as you bring a hand up towards your mouth to run your tongue along your fingers, wetting them to smooth down the frizz. Fingers rake through your hair, doing the best you can with what you have to make yourself look somewhat presentable.

That’s when you spot him.

He is smiling at you through the window, and you’re close enough to see the amusement that lingers in his eyes. And you are _mortified_. What’s worse yet is that you know that you need to go into that coffee shop, the very same one that you’re standing in front of. The very same one that he’s in now. You’ll have to see him again, this time with no window separating the two of you.

You can feel your face flush, and quickly, your hand lowers and you turn away from the window. Determined not to let some stranger ~~and your own brazen use of the window~~ derail your day, you swing open the door to the coffee shop and step inside, avoiding any and all contact with the man who’d just caught you fixing your hair using your own reflection in the window.

Instead, you focus on the menu board overhead as you step towards the counter, waiting in line. But that’s when you hear him.

“For what it’s worth, I think you look presentable,” he says from behind you in a deep, smooth voice.

“Just presentable?” You glance over your shoulder, slight smile on your face.

Your response causes him to chuckle, and he nods, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his slacks. “Good. You look good.”

You turn your attention to the cashier as you step up to place your order, the smile still on your face. Maybe this mishap wasn’t so bad after all.


	15. Texting Incorrect Number

The space between your brows creases as you read the strange text that’s popped up onto the screen of your phone. **_Don’t forget, 8:45 at the Mezzrow_** , reads the text. You’ve got half a mind to let it go or send a simple message back to let this person know that they haven’t reached their intended recipient. But something in you just can’t seem to respond without being a little cheeky. **_As much as I love the spontaneous invitation, I’m afraid this wasn’t meant for me. But I’m sure you and whomever you’re trying to reach will have a lovely time tonight._** Pressing send, you laugh to yourself and palm your phone as your eyes fall back to the counter of your favorite coffee shop, still waiting on that order of yours.

It takes no time at all for the phone to buzz again with an incoming text. Flipping it over, illuminating the screen, you look at the message. **_Shame. Maybe next time?_** A smile stretches across your face, and quickly, you respond. **_Name the time and place._** You have no intention of meeting whomever this is, of course, but what’s the harm in a little banter?

——————————————

You don’t hear from the mystery texter for roughly a week, and though you know you should probably get rid of the texts, something in your gut tells you to hold onto them a little while longer. It’s Tuesday afternoon when your phone buzzes, that very number flashing on screen.

**_Bar Nine on 9th Ave tonight? 8:00 pm? Right person this time. ;)_ **

Your thumbs fly over the keyboard, typing out a response in rapid time. **_1\. Kind of important, but are you a serial killer? 2. I don’t even know your name. 3. How will I even know what you look like? All this considering that I do agree._** Pressing send, you wait ~~im~~ patiently for a reply.

_**1\. No, but kuddos to you for thinking to check. 2. My name’s Charlie. Last name’s Barber if you want to double back to #1 and do a background check and/or check my social media. 3. Refer to #2.** _

There’s that stupidly wide smile of yours again, pleased to see that he’s got a sense of humor about him. You don’t respond to him right away this time, instead opting to take his suggestion and look him up. Only then do you respond.

**_8:00 PM it is. See you then, Charlie. ;)_ **


	16. Overly Romantic Gesture

It’d been so long since you’d last seen your family that you’d left to spend the majority of the weekend out of state with them. Perfect timing, of course, because today marks your anniversary with Charlie, and he’d been planning on taking advantage of your time away for some time now. He’d spent the better part of the last two months at cooking classes (using the age old excuse of ‘staying late at the theater’ to explain his late nights), just so he could hone his skill for you.

Dinner was ready and waiting for you by the time you’d arrived back to the apartment, along with a dozen red roses displayed at the center of the kitchen table, and petals scattered all over the bedroom. He’s a romantic, that Charlie, but you’d had a little trick of your own up your sleeve.

You’d left him in the kitchen for just a moment, promising him that you’d be back for your meal as soon as you unpacked, but when he saw you next, you could swear that his eyes had popped straight out of that pretty head of his. You were standing there in all your glory, a black lacy, barely there teddy covering your body.

Even thinking back on it now, you can still hear the chair’s legs scraping back against the hardwood as Charlie all but launched himself out of when his eyes landed on you, dinner left behind and long forgotten on the table.


	17. We're Just Friends

“ **Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?** ” The pad of Charlie’s index finger is trailing along your cheek, gently tracing the red hue that’s tinting the skin there, the faintest of smiles forming.

It’s been like this for weeks now, these small touches, hidden smiles, Charlie walking you home after rehearsals. He’d even been so bold as to steal a kiss from you backstage a few days ago, and now you’re back at your door, his finger on your face and that smile starting to take hold. Your head shakes, and rather than answer the question, you ask him to come in instead.

“ **We’re just…friends** ,” he says softly once the look of realization washes over his features. He drops his hand away from your face, and though his touch is gone, you swear that you can still feel it lingering against your cheek.

He watches silently as your brows furrow and a look of irritation crosses your features. “ **Friends don’t do this type of shit** ,” you exclaim, motioning with a wave of your hand between the two of you.

When he says nothing, you scoff, your head shaking as you turn away from him to unlock the door. His hands are on your hips, spinning you around once the door’s unlocked, greeted with your look of surprise at the move. Charlie’s eyes search your own momentarily before his lips descend onto yours. As he steps towards you to close the distance, your hand reaches back to fumble with the doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door open to let the two of you inside.

You’re right, after all, he’s decided as he walks you back into your home. Friends _don’t_ do this. But he isn’t your friend. No, he’s something _more_.


	18. Blush

A firm hand presses against your lower back, Charlie’s free hand pushing the bar to the door that leads to the stairwell. He ushers you through and allows the door to slam behind him once you both step past the threshold. In an instant, his hands are on your waist, whirling you around to face him as he leans his back up against the wall. When he tugs you closer, he does in a way that has your legs straddling his right thigh.

He never would have risked such behavior in the past, but now, now he can’t help himself where you’re concerned. More often than not he’s too impatient to wait until the two of you are back home, and fuck, if you aren’t just looking all sorts of delicious in that too short sundress you’ve got on.

“ **Is there a reason you’re blushing like that** ,” he asks, taking in the rosy hue of your cheeks.

He watches as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, his pupils dilating to match your own as you peer up with him with that feigned look of innocence. “Anyone could walk in at any time,” you say, stating the obvious.

You both know that it’s a very real possibility, especially considering how often someone’s always chasing him down for some sort of decision. “Better make it quick then,” he replies, a smirk curling the left corner of his mouth upward.

When your hands move down to reach for his jeans, he grasps your hands with one of his, pulling them away with a shake of his head. “ **The only way you are gonna get off is on my thigh**.” His voice lowers, and that alone has your hips rolling against his denim-clad thigh, a whimper escaping you and your cunt clenching around nothing.

A soft grunt slips past his lips when his hands move to palm your ass, aiding in the movement of your hips against him. A few floors up, a door to the stairwell opens up, causing your attention to lift upward, your head tilting to check for anyone who may be on their way down.

“Look at me,” Charlie instructs firmly, your gaze snapping back to his. “Don’t look anywhere but right at me.”

The hands on his shirt curl fingers into the fabric, grasping it as your hips move erratically now, the friction against your clit bringing you quickly to your release. He’s mesmerized, watching as the blush on your cheeks creeps down to cover your neck and chest in splotches.

“Charlie,” you whimper.

The hands on your ass continue to aid in the quick rocking of your hips. “Let go, baby,” he urges. “Let me watch you come undone.”

The look on your face as you reach your release has got to be the best thing he’s ever witnessed, he thinks. The way your brows crease and jaw falls slack as you writhe against him. It’s the most beautiful thing to him.

He doesn’t stop you then as you lean in to press your mouth into his shirt to conceal the moans that spill from your lips, your hips finally stilling against his thigh. You stay like that, slumped against his body as you attempt to catch your breath, his hands now moving to rub soothingly against your back, murmuring words of praise into your hair as he presses kiss after kiss to the crown of your head.

He may not be getting off now, but he knows good and well that you’ll return the favor the second he gets home tonight.


	19. Yoga

Early morning sunrise filters in through the window of the apartment’s living room, bathing the space in a soft golden light. You’d gotten up before Charlie, left him to sleep in on a rare day off for you both in order to get some exercise in. Having unrolled your yoga mat, you dive into your usual routine, bending this way and that, muscles stretching and mind cleared.

It’s when you’re in the standing split pose, left leg cast upward towards the ceiling and your left palm pressed to the floor, is when you hear the familiar creak of the floorboard nearby. Your lips curl into a sly smile as silence continues to fill the room. Bringing your leg back down, you shift into a standing forward bend.

He’s standing there at the threshold of the hall and the living room, eyes zeroed in on you. Charlie’s barely been out of bed for all of five minutes and you’ve already got him _so hard_. “ **Oh, my God, do that again** ,” he says with a quiet groan, palming his clothed cock.

From this position, you’re able to peek between the space between your legs to watch as he approaches you from behind. “ **Like what you see?** ” Once he gets close enough, you rise back to a standing position, and it’s then that you feel the slide of his hands against your hips.

Charlie draws you back to close the small space between the two of you, your back now resting against his chest. Your head angles to the side, offering up the side of your neck for his kissing and nipping pleasure. His lips are on you in a matter of seconds, sucking softly against the skin before teeth are nipping at the skin just above your pulse point. His left hand settles against your hipbone, fingers splaying across the space while his right hand dips past the waistband of the skin-tight yoga pants that you don.

With his foot, he sweeps your leg out to further widen your stance, a sigh slipping past your lips as his hand dips further to reach the apex of your thighs. “ **You’re so much fun to touch** ,” he whispers huskily in your ear, middle finger applying a gentle pressure to your clit. Instinctively, you attempt to buck your hips towards his hand to gain more friction, but the hand at your hip prevents you from doing so.

“Charlie,” you whine, a whimper following his name.

He nips at your earlobe, finger circling the sensitive bud slowly, eliciting another whine on your part. “Tell me what you want,” he says, fingers pulling away when you say nothing at first. “Use your words.”

“Please.” A gasp escapes you when he removes his fingers. “Charlie,” you groan in frustration, eyes slipping closed and brows furrowing. “Fuck, Charlie, give me your fingers, I—”

A second gasp sounds when he slips his fingers between your slick folds. He groans at the discovery, though he’s not surprise. “Always so wet for me.” His tone’s lowered an octave still.

“Yes,” your words accompanying a sigh. “Always for you.”

He rewards you then, his middle and index fingers pushing into you, the hand on your hip easing its grip to allow you to move against him. And move you do, your hips undulating against him, his palm pressing against your clit to apply the needed pressure to bring you closer to your release.

One hand comes to rest against his, the other lifting to reach behind you, fingers grasping at his hair while your hips continue to move. His fingers push in further, curling inward to reach that sensitive spot inside you. He knows he’s found it once you turn into a babbling mess, and he has to hold you tighter now, keep you upright as his fingers work to bring you to your orgasm.

You really are so much fun to touch, he thinks when you clench around his fingers. If this is the kind of morning he’ll be greeted to on days where he doesn’t sleep in so late, then he’ll be making it habit to rise with the sun.


	20. Don't Be So Rough

Clothes lie scattered across the floor, each garment trailing the last until the final remnant’s been discarded at the foot of the bed. The very same bed that’s headboard is knocking against the wall, springs squeaking in protest at the sheer ferocity in which Charlie’s hips are snapping into yours. Lines of varying shades of red cascade down his back from where your nails have caved a path, a thin sheen of sweat has covered both your bodies as you pant into one another’s mouths.

The moment that you tip your head back, choking on a strangled moan, Charlie seizes the opportunity to work his mouth down towards your neck. It’s his favorite thing to do, marking you up, but you’ve made him agree to keep it in places that won’t be seen in public. He’d done well to adhere to your own request up until this very moment. He gets like this sometimes, overstimulated and absolutely frenzied seeing you beneath him, jaw slacked and writhing with the absolute pleasure he’s bestowing upon you. It’s in moments like these that he just can’t help himself. His lips attach themselves to your neck, sucking _hard_. But it’s the bite that pulls you out of your blissful state.

Your hands reach up to delve fingers into his hair, tugging to get his attention as you shout his name in a way that lets him know you’re displeased. “ **Don’t be so rough** ,” you say through labored breaths. “ **There can’t be any marks.** ”

Charlie’s head lifts and though he’s murmuring a brief apology, he still can’t help but smirk down at you, his hips still keeping their steady pace. “ **I didn’t know you were so sensitive** ,” he teases.

Hitching a leg up and over his hip, you arch up into him just as the hands in his hair tug his face back down to yours. You capture his bottom lip between your teeth and nip just a _little_ too hard, eliciting a groan of discomfort from Charlie. The sound quickly evolves into a chuckle just as his tongue delves into your mouth, his lips slanted against yours as pleasure once again takes over.


	21. Taking Care of Sick Charlie

Bare feet pad across the wooden floor of the bedroom, taking careful steps to keep oh, so quiet. The last thing that you want to do is wake Charlie who, after hours of tossing and turning has finally fallen asleep. Your eyes are on him the entirety of your trip into the room, and they don’t dare leave him as you bend down slowly to collect the trash can containing the mountain of tissues he’s deposited over the course of the day.

He’d been suffering through a cold for the past few days, but today seems to be the worst of it. Exhaustion has hit him hard, and finally, you were able to talk him into taking the day off and staying home to get some much needed rest. Quick to empty the trash can, you return to the side of the bed you’d retrieved it from, but once you’ve set it down and are about to leave the room again, a cold hand reaches out to grasp your wrist.

“Stay,” Charlie asks, eyes still closed and mouth agape to take ragged breaths.

You open your mouth to protest, but when he coughs, brows creasing with the effort, you sigh and opt to give in to him. “Okay,” you say softly, and when his hold eases, you step around to the other side of the bed to climb in beside him.

Charlie turns to face you, now lying on his side as one arm slips beneath you, the other drapes over your side. He pulls you in close, tucking your head beneath his chin just as his hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt. They’re like ice against your warm skin, the sudden shock at the temperature difference causes you to yelp against his neck, which elicits a raspy chuckle on his part. Eventually, you relax against him, letting him soak up your warmth until he falls asleep once more.


	22. Running Out At Night

A lamp clicks on, illuminating the bedroom in a golden glow, and Charlie squints until his eyes finally adjust to the light. He reaches over with a hand, finding your side of the bed empty. The clock on his nightstand reads 2:24 AM, and as he gets up from the bed, he can hear shuffling from within the kitchen.

He finds you standing at the refrigerator, hand caressing your swollen belly and a frown tugging on the corners your mouth. Even with the sleep that still plagues his mind, seeing you there, heavily pregnant and bathed in the illumination of the refrigerator light, he can’t help but think about how beautiful you look. Still attempting to blink away the sleep, he steps up behind you, hands moving to your stomach to feel the gentle kicks of the baby.

With a sigh, you lean back into him. “We’re out of pickles.”

He knows what this means. He’s done this dance time and time again, and he’ll continue to do it if it means it makes you happy. Charlie takes a moment to exhale a sigh of his own, his face burying against the side of your neck. “I’ll go get you some,” he murmurs, the words muffled by your skin.

“I’m sorry.” He never makes you feel bad about nights like this. He knows it’s not something that can be helped, and you’re so grateful that he’s willing to go out at nearly 3 AM to get you what you need.

“‘S’okay,” he slurs when he pulls back, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be back in no time.”

And true to his word, he’s back in no time at all, pickles in hand.


	23. Kiss Before Work

The mattress dips gently beneath you when you sit down on the edge of the bed, arm outstretched to brush back the hair from Charlie’s face. Even in sleep his body chases the warmth of yours, his face leaning into your delicate touch until his eyes are fluttering open to look up at you with a groggy expression. You smile down at him, and he does the same, his hand already reaching for you to continue that physical connection.

“Morning,” you whisper to him.

“Morning,” he replies, his voice laced with the tiredness he’s still plagued by. “Time to go already?”

Your head nods, and turning your body slightly, you lean down to kiss him softly. This morning ritual is one you cherish, then again all tender moments with Charlie are your favorites. But today he surprises you, reaches his arms out and winds them around you to pull you down to him abruptly. It’s a move that elicits laughter on your part, the sound making him smile wider now as your face tucks away into the crook of his neck.

“Charlie,” you protest, his name muffled against his neck. More laughter follows, and you can’t help but think that this is the best way to start your day. If you were to ask Charlie, he’d agree.


	24. Bringing Daughter To Work

This isn’t exactly ideal, bringing his daughter to work with him, but he’d had no other options. You’d called at the last minute to tell him that you were tied up with work, which left him scrambling. He tried the babysitter, but to no avail. It was too short notice.

So here he sits, little hands playfully patting his face while he attempts to focus on the rehearsals unfolding before him. He’s doing his very best to interject when he can, to give his input on how he thinks things should be improved, but he sees the slight smiles of amusement of the cast each time his daughter’s palms slap against his cheeks. Like him, they’re doing their very best, but the little girl on his lap is far too entertaining for anyone to pay attention to anything else.

He knows that this is a rehearsal that won’t benefit much in the way of productivity thanks to her presence, but he’s happy to have her with him none the less.


	25. Sexual Healing

Charlie is many things, you’ve come to find out over the course of your relationship, but a spontaneous romantic may just be your favorite thing about him. He’s always pulling out the stops when you’re least expecting it, tonight being the perfect example.

He’d had a long day at the theater, or so he’d said. Plenty of people were out sick, and the ones who had shown up were less interested in running lines and more interested in pushing back rehearsals until everyone could be in attendance. By the time he’s arrived back home, he looks every bit as exhausted as he expresses he is; the bags under his eyes are more prominent that they were when you’d seen him this morning, and his stance is much more hunched.

You’re expecting him to undress and go straight to bed, but as you’re in bedroom turning down the sheets in preparation for sleep, you pause as you hear the familiar sound of the record player.

> _Baby, I’m hot just like an oven  
> _ _I need some lovin’  
>  And baby, I can’t hold it much longer  
> It’s getting stronger and stronger_

A smile curls your lips as you abandon the bed in favor of stepping out into the living room. Standing there in his favorite plaid pajama bottoms and loose fitted t-shirt, Charlie’s all teeth and dimples as he grins from ear to ear when you make your appearance. “Dance with me,” he says, already moving towards you — as if he’d give you a chance to turn him down.

Soft laughter slips past your lips as he winds an arm around your midsection to settle a hand at your lower back, drawing your body closer to his, his other hand taking yours and lifting it. For being as tall as he is, he’s long since surprised you with his dancing prowess, a talent he enjoys showing off for you, tonight being no exception.

He smoothly navigates the room, careful to avoid the coffee table as he spins and dips you, eliciting giddy laughter from you, a sound that always makes his day that much better.

> _Baby, open up and let me in  
>  I can’t wait for you to operate_

As the song draws to a close, your movements halt, though the two of you don’t dare part from one another. Just as your hand lifts away from his in favor of placing it upon his cheek, he leans down to capture your lips with his. Charlie’s lips are soft and smooth in ways you’d never imagined, and it’s a realization that never fails to pleasantly surprise you no matter how many times your lips meet.

Both of his hands move to splay across your back, though before he’s able to deepen the kiss, you step just out of his reach, leaving him staring with a stunned expression. The shock on his face is quickly replaced by a look of desire, darkened eyes taking you in as you reach for his hand and turn away from him to tug him in the direction of the bedroom.

He goes willingly, following your lead, allowing you to take charge for once. Once you enter the bedroom, you direct him backward towards the bed. As his knees hit the edge, he plops down, the mattress groaning in protest at the sudden weight. His hands find your hips when you climb onto him to straddle his lap, one hand settling onto his shoulders while the other cards fingers through his hair.

You want nothing more than to take care of him tonight, to ride him until the two of you are nothing more a mess of sweaty, tangled limbs. But Charlie has other plans.

He lifts you up effortlessly, rolling you over until your back is pressed against the mattress, his lips trailing downward along your neck while his hands grasp for the hem of your shirt. Forced to pull back, he lifts the shirt up and over your head, tossing it haphazardly to the floor beside the bed. A large palm settles onto the bed beside your hip as he leans down, his head ducking to languidly run his tongue along your pebbled nipple. He loves the reaction this always seems to garner from you, the soft sigh that leaves your lips and the way that your hands delve into his soft hair.

His teeth nibble gently at your nipple, your back arching in response and your fingers curling to grasp his hair tighter. The response causes him to smile against your breast, his eyes lifting to watch your face, and oh, the look he gives you. It sends a familiar warmth straight down to the apex of your thighs, making your cunt clench around nothing, that empty feeling causing you to long for him that much more.

“Charlie,” you sigh, voice heavy with need.

He releases your nipple with an audible pop and sits back on his haunches, grasping the hem of his own shirt, pulling it up and over his head to discard it near where he’d thrown yours. Just as you work to slide off your shorts, he does the same with his pajama bottoms, leaving you both bared before one another.

His hands move to grasp the insides of your knees, pushing your legs apart to reveal your glistening cunt. His cock twitches at the sight, the head already beading with precum. Widening your legs to better accommodate him when he settles between your thighs, he reaches between the two of you, his hand gripping his cock to run it along you slick folds, coating himself before he eases into you. He can never get enough of the sounds you make, of the way that your breath hitches when he bottoms out, and the way that your leg hitches over his hip to keep yourself tethered to him.

Charlie’s never been much of a talker in bed, and tonight’s no exception. With the day he’s had, he wants nothing more than to just take, take, take until he can take no more, and you’re more than willing to let him. The hand that had been pressed into the mattress mere moments ago now lifts to grip the headboard above you, his free hand moving to settle against your waist, keeping you anchored in place as his hips draw back, nearly pulling all the way out before he snaps his hips back into hers. You cry out at the sensation, the sound only serving to spur him on.

The room is filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, heavy breaths, and needy moans — and you do get there, to the point where your bodies are slicked with sweat, limbs tangled and chests heaving. And only then is Charlie’s mind at ease, his body relaxed, the tensions of the day washed away by the touches you’d gifted him and the sounds you’d made in the sanctity of your shared bedroom.

> _Makes me feel so fine, it’s such a rush  
>  Helps to relieve the mind, and it’s good for us_


	26. Waking A Princess

The nudge of a tiny elbow into his rib cage grabs Charlie’s attention almost immediately. His head turns, and when his eyes fall onto Henry, he finds his son hastily lifting his index finger to his mouth to signal for Charlie to be quiet, Henry’s other hand pointing in the direction of where you’re lying on the couch.

It’s a quiet, sunny afternoon, the window is open to let in the air, sounds of the city life wafting in to fill the space. You’d taken the opportunity to lie down for a quick nap while Charlie works with Henry on his reading, but you hadn’t even fallen asleep yet when you hear the faint scrape of a chair’s legs against the wooden floor.

Charlie’s pushing himself back away from the table, simultaneously leaning down so Henry can whisper into his ear, smiling when he hears what his son is telling him. You strain to hear, though it’s no use, the two are too far from where you are on the couch for you to hear anything above the sound of the outside world.

He’s taking such tentative steps towards you, trying so hard not to be loud, but thanks to the old flooring you can still hear when he approaches, the occasional squeak and groan of the wood alerting you to just how close he is until...

Charlie knees down beside you on the couch, and you can’t help but smile then, your eyes still closed as he huffs out a laugh. He’s doing this for Henry’s amusement now, you know. You can tell by the way Henry is giggling incessantly in the dining room while he watches on. Charlie lowers his face to yours and presses a lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away, and like the theater lover he is, he just can’t help himself...

“Awaken, fair maiden,” he exclaims, one hand at his chest while the other is extended outward into the air, “for true love’s kiss has broken the spell of your slumber!”

In the near distance Henry snorts, his giggles too loud to be ignored in the apartment, and you can’t help but let a laugh slip out as well, a hand lifting to cover your mouth just before your eyes open.

It’s silly, but it’s perfect, these little moments the three of you share.


	27. A Realization

He hadn’t planned for this; hadn’t planned for the breath to be punched straight from his lungs each and every time you enter a room, your mere presence commanding attention from everyone else in it, his included. No, he hadn’t planned to feel those little butterflies in his gut each and every time your hand reaches for his, palm sliding against palm and fingers lacing together to keep the two of you connected. But that’s the funny thing about love, isn’t it? You never plan for it, and...

“ **Shit** ,” Charlie mutters into his glass of wine, eyes tracing you as you weave your way through the crowd, a dazzling smile on display for him and only him. “ **I think I’m in love with them**.”

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but the realization hits him then, the spoken words making the reality of it all crash down onto him with an intensity like he’s never felt before.

He loves you.

He.

_Loves_.

**You**.


	28. A Drunk Confession

He doesn’t usually do this, hardly ever drinks himself stupid, but tonight is a night of celebration. He’d finally, _finally_ landed one of his plays on Broadway, and it’d had a successful run to boot. You’re standing at the bar when his eyes find you for the umpteenth time tonight amid the crowd of the wrap party; he hadn’t even bothered to keep it a secret this time, tracking your every move with his eyes while you rub elbows with friends and colleagues alike.

There is an ache in his chest, one he’s been dealing with for quite some time now, and it isn’t until this moment that the pieces have clicked together in that brain of his. _He loves you_. He’s been in love with you for so long now, but he’s never had the chance to express it, to _tell you_.

Until now, that is.

Slowly, he lifts himself up from the booth, abandoning a conversation he’d been having with one of his colleagues. Unsteady steps take him closer to you until he’s crossed the expanse of the room and is standing right next to you. You smell lovely; floral, like jasmine and rose.

You laugh softly, thanking him for the sentiment and.... _shit_....

Had he said that out loud?

You’re in the middle of congratulating him on the play’s successful run when he says it, blurts it all out into the open, uncaring of who hears. Because it’s you who matters to him. No one else in the room does. Not now. Not right this second.

“I love you,” he says, a slight slur to his words, brow creased with the weight of the words. “Have for a long, long time.” He pouts then, those doe-like eyes peering into your own now, waiting with bated breath for some sort of response.

“Charlie,” you start, offering him a warm smile and a hand on his bicep. He can feel the warmth soaking through his cardigan, and that’s all he’s ever wanted: warmth, someone to love him for who he is, someone to care for him as he cares for them.

_You’re_ that someone, he thinks. _Please. Please tell him you love him too._


	29. Letting You Go

This isn’t how any of this was supposed to go. Charlie’s hand continues to grasp yours, refusing to let go, wanting just another moment longer with this, with you. He’d said it was over with Nicole, said they were done for good this time. But now... Now he’s telling you that she wants to work things out. For Henry, he’d said.

For their son.

You understand. Of course you do. This shouldn’t have ever gone as far as it had in the first place, neither of you should have rekindled this flame that initially simmered down to nothing more than embers back then; before Nicole. But he’d said...

He said.

_He said._

**He said.**

“ **Let go** ,” you whisper with what little willpower you have left, voice cracking breath hitching in your throat when you inhale.

Charlie tips his head down, lips pulling downward and chin wobbling as he does his damnedest to hold back the tears that threaten to overcome him. You watch as his head shakes slightly, the motion so subtle that you would have missed it had you not been watching him so intently. “ **I can’t** ,” he replies, the words prefacing the hiccup of a sob.

He’s doing this for Henry, so he’ll grow up in a home with parents who are together, who love him. That’s what he tells himself. He’s doing this for him, putting his own happiness aside so that his son will know nothing but.

But he’d said he would leave her. That’s what he’d told you before.

Before Nicole had changed her mind. Before now.

He said.

_He said._

**He said.**

So many words and no action. Now he’s watching as your hand slips from his grasp; watches as his happiness leaves through the very door you step through, throwing his world into something dark and cold.


	30. Pillow Fight

A plume of feathers explodes out from an unseen tear in the pillow in your hand, the feathers scattering across the bedroom as you gasp in surprise. Both yours and Charlie’s movements halt immediately, the pillows in your grasps no longer swinging at one another; your pillow fight put on hold for now.

You’re the first to laugh, of course. You just can’t help yourself, not when Charlie’s looking around the room, absolutely mystified at the sheer number of feathers dotting the space. The second he hears your laugh, however, his gaze snaps back to yours and a smile creeps up onto his features.

He steps closer to you, pillow tumbling from his hand to drop down to the floor when he does so. You know exactly where this headed. How could you not? It’s easy to know when he’s giving you that look. Your own pillow, torn, tattered, and now devoid of feathers now drops to the floor to join his just as he reaches you.

His hands grip your waist, drawing you closer to him just as he dips down to capture your lips with his. When you lift your arms to wrap them around his neck, nails gently scraping along the nape of his neck, he glides his hands around and up along your back to press your body flush against his.

“ **You have no idea how much I want you** ,” he whispers to you when his lips part from yours only briefly.

Oh, but you do. If he wants you even a fraction of the amount you want him then you know good and well just how much.

“Show me,” you whisper in return. Your head tilts just slightly, offering your lips up to him again, and he happily accepts. It doesn’t take him long to lift you up and deposit you onto the bed, your body bouncing against the mattress to send feathers flying.


	31. Charlie Submits

A slow, steady drip of melted wax drops down from the burning candle, depositing red droplets onto Charlie’s chest, the skin stinging momentarily from the heat. Plush lips part to inhale a shuddered breath, fingers curling to fist the soft cotton sheets beneath him whilst he stays as still as possible per your earlier command.

“That’s a good boy,” you coo, rewarding him with gentle touches of your hand as it glides down his body. Fingertips glide along his cock, feeling every ridge, every vein as it twitches in response, precum dribbling out from the reddened tip.

More wax drips down, this time to his stomach just as your hand wraps around him, squeezing his cock just right while you slowly glide your hand up and down. Charlie’s hips buck then, an involuntary response to the over-stimulation, and he knows immediately that he’s made a grave mistake. He whimpers when you pull your hand away from him, the candle now being extinguished as you bring it to your lips, blowing it out with one swift breath.

His eyes track your every movement when you step away from the bed to deposit the rapidly cooling candle onto the nearby dresser. You tut your tongue against the roof of your mouth when you turn back to face him, taking slow steps back towards him. “You were being so good for me, Charlie.” There’s an edge of disappointment to your voice, and fuck, he knows he should have stayed still; should have done what he was told, but he just _couldn’t help it_.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispers, begs, _pleads_ with you.

You say nothing, instead, moving to the nightstand beside the bed, retrieving the violet wand from the drawer along with the red glass attachment. He knows what’s coming next; knows the sting of it, knows how you won’t relent until he’s pleading for reprieve, and yet his cock jumps, twitches, _throbs_ at the sound of the glass attachment clicking into place.

Charlie watches, silent as ever as you round the bed, the soft hum of the wand in your hand mingling with his labored breaths of anticipation. The wand crackles and pops from the mild electric current that’s expelled when you lower it to come into contact at the base of his cock. Charlie huffs out a breath of air, muscles tensing at the sensation. Slowly, slowly, you glide the wand up along his shaft until the tiny bulbous end of it is pressed ever so gently against his frenulum. He chokes on the groan that forces its way up out of his throat, muscular thighs trembling at the over-stimulation that the wand’s current provides.

He’s already so close, and the longer the wand is left to press against him, the closer his impending orgasm looms. But you know, of course you do. You’ve done this with him far too many times; you’ve learned every tell, notice every movement, every twitch, whimper, and groan that lets you know just how close he is. You wait until he’s teetering on the edge of release, and then...

The wand is suddenly pulled from his body, the overwhelming sensation gone in a second, leaving Charlie a wanton, panting mess. His chest heaves with frustrated breaths, face red and cock bouncing against his stomach, the head of it just as red as a slow dribble of cum leaks out. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to tug the corners of your mouth upwards into a satisfied smirk.

Charlie’s head presses back against the pillow, eyes shut tightly, a strangled groan intermingling with a whimper slipping past his lips as his hips buck upward into the air, desperately searching for the release he was denied.

You shut the wand off and set it aside, a hand reaching out to trail the pads of your fingertips along the wax that’s now cooled against his chest. “Beg for it, Charlie. Tell me what you’ll do for me if I let you cum.”

In an instant, his eyelids open, eyes finding you just as your nails press into the skin of his sternum, creating tiny crescent indents in the space there. “Please,” he begs again, “I’ll do whatever you ask of me. I’ll...” He hesitates, his brain reeling with all the things he could do to you, desperately searching for something that he thinks may please you. “Sit on my face,” he says suddenly. “I’ll make it good. I’ll be so good for you.”

You debate for a brief moment; debate if you’ll string him along, make him endure this treatment longer. But the way he’s looking at you with that wild desperation, hair mussed and hands still white-knuckling the sheets, you decide to give him an early reprieve.

Just this once.

Your hand wraps around his cock, giving a slow stroke upwards, your thumb gathering up some of the cum that’s been expelled onto his stomach to rub it around the head of his cock to slick him up. Charlie gasps at the sensation, and this time you give him a pass as his hips buck up again. Keeping a tight grip on him, your hand works him slowly at first, waiting for those tells of his before you increase your pace. His thighs are quivering, breaths shuddered and back arching just slightly off of the mattress, and it’s then that you know he’s on the precipice. You can feel the throb of his cock in your hand just as you release him, hand pulling away from him to remove all stimulation.

A sobbed groan is expelled in protest at the loss of your hand, but his cock pulses nonetheless, cum spurting out out onto his stomach and chest, the creamy white of it a stark contrast to the red wax that dots his body.

You climb onto him then, legs framing the sides of his face as you lower your exposed cunt to him, already wet from all you’ve put Charlie through tonight. He wastes no time in tasting you, his tongue lapping at you hungrily while your hips undulate above him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs as best he can between licks of your folds, his nose bumping against your clit in the process. “ _Thankyouthankyouthankyou_.”

He can feel it, the way you clench around his tongue when he delves it into you, tasting as much of you as he can; can hear the sighs of pleasure you make while you fuck his tongue. “That’s a good boy,” you moan, hands lifting to grasp at your own breasts, fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples. “That’s my good Charlie.”


	32. Phone Sex

He works so hard, your Charlie; long nights spent at the theater, doing everything within his power to make sure the stage is set just so, the cast is as prepped and ready as they can be. It more often than not means he’s coming home well into the night after you’re already in bed and asleep. He hates that, leaving you alone for so long, joining you only in your dreams.

The phone in his pocket vibrates to signal an incoming call. His hand dips into the front pocket of his slacks to retrieve the device, seeing your name glaring up at him from the illuminated screen. Charlie’s gaze flickers to the actors on stage who are running through their lines, simultaneously answering the call as he lifts the phone to his ear.

“Sweetheart, everything o—”

“Charlie,” you sigh into the phone, mouth upturned into a sly smile whilst you lie on your shared bed.

Almost immediately, he straightens in his seat, eyes still fixated on the stage in front of him. He knows where this is headed, you do this every now and again, keep him on his toes at work, let him know how much he’s missed at home. “What are you wearing?” He’s already half-hard when he asks, his free hand palming the front of his slacks in the darkened seats.

You open your mouth to reply, fully prepared to describe the material (or lack thereof) on your body, but he’s quick to amend the question with a statement. “Show me.”

There’s little hesitation on your part. You did get all dolled up for him even though he isn’t physically there with you. He waits patiently while you pull the phone away from your ear and bring up the camera, taking a photo of your body. His phone vibrates with the incoming picture once you’ve sent it to him in a text, and it’s his turn to pull the phone from his ear. Retrieving the photo, he taps the screen with his thumb to enlarge it, getting a better view of you in your black cage lingerie, complete with garter and thigh length stockings.

His favorite.

In an instant, he’s up and out of his chair, calling out to the cast and crew to take a break. Five minutes. That’s all he’ll need.

You can’t help but smile to yourself when you hear the soft click of a door, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock turning into place. The metallic squeak of a chair sounds when Charlie settles himself into it, his free hand already working to undo his pants. “Touch yourself,” he instructs the second his hand dips beneath the brim of his boxers to pull his hard cock free.

Your own fingers disappear beneath the waistband of your lace underwear, the pads of your index and middle finger rubbing lazy circles against your clit. “I miss you,” you whisper into the phone, the words quickly followed up with a soft moan. “Wish these were your fingers. Wish it were you touching me. I’m so _wet_ , Charlie.” Another sigh escapes you while your fingers move further downward to slip two of them into your slick heat. You can hear the unmistakable slap of skin on skin now as he works his hand up and down the length of himself, desperate for release already.

“Let me hear it,” he says through unsteady breaths, his hand squeezing and stroking his cock, working himself closer still. “Want to hear how wet you are. Show me.”

The phone is once again pulled from your ear, this time you place it on speaker and set the device near the apex of your thighs, allowing the squelch of your fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt to be heard through the phone. “I’m so close.” The words are spoken like a whine when your thumb grazes against your clit.

You know when all you’re met with is heavy breaths and the occasional grunt and groan that he’s close too. “Want to hear you cum,” he says, his voice tinny through the speaker. “Need to, _mmf—fuuck_ , say my name when you do it.”

You do. Of course you do. His name falls from your lips like a prayer. _CharlieCharlieCharlie._ Chanted over and over until you’re boneless and sated on the bed. It isn’t long after that he falls over the crest of his own orgasm, releasing into his hand when he does so.

He may not be home at a reasonable hour, but how can you be mad when you’ve got moments like this?


	33. Let Me Look At You

It isn’t often you find yourself like this, lacking the desire to fuck Charlie. It’s just...it’s been a _long_ day, and you’re so _tired._ Charlie knows this, you’ve told him as much; gave him a rain check for tomorrow, but he’s still just _so hard_ for you now.

“Just... Let me look at you,” he says, standing at the foot of the bed, a hand palming his aching cock through the flannel pajama bottoms he’s currently wearing. “Take it off, I want to see you.”

You do as requested, removing the shirt from your body, exposing your breasts to him, the cold air of the bedroom tightening and pebbling your nipples. It’s the least you can do, you think as you remove the underwear from your body as well, throwing both items of clothing from the bed.

Charlie’s thumbs hook into the waistband of his pajama bottoms and he pulls it down in one swift motion, stepping out of the garment and kicking it aside. He watches then as your legs part, knees falling to the mattress to expose that beautiful cunt of yours. Charlie spits into his hand before beginning to work the length of his cock in slow, steady strokes, eyes focused on nothing but your body.

You lazily trail a hand up along your torso, fingertips brushing along the peaks of your nipples, eliciting a soft gasp from you. Charlie’s hips buck in response, the swollen head of his cock already beginning to drip precum at the sight of you. “What do you want to do to me, Charlie?” Your voice is like velvet, and _fuck_ , he just wants to have you.

But he can’t, and he won’t. Not unless you tell him otherwise. He can get off like this just fine, his hand doing the work for him while you lie there and look so fucking pretty for him.


	34. Late For Work

Tongues duel for dominance amidst the hot breaths that spill into one another’s mouths whilst the occasional grunt, groan, and moan mingle with the rapid slap of skin on skin, the sounds filling the room of the otherwise quiet kitchen.

Your fingers grasp at raven locks, tugging at the hair atop Charlie’s head just as his hold on your hips tighten, fingertips digging further into the soft flesh there. The heel of your foot presses into the back of his thigh, urging him deeper with each thrust.

Neither of you had meant to end up here; both of you had already been running late for your respective jobs when it’d all kicked off. It started with a pinch to your ass as you bypassed Charlie in the kitchen to grab your lunch before heading out for the day. The pinch turned into a retaliation slap on the ass from you, which evolved into Charlie pulling you to him for a kiss. So now, here you are...

...late and disheveled.

One of your hands drops away from Charlie’s hair, fingers lowering to find your clit, rubbing at it hastily to reach your climax as quickly as possible. He knows when you’re close, can easily sense it when your cunt flutters around him, can hear it when you whisper into his mouth. He isn’t far behind. He never is.

Your head lulls back, thunking against the wooden cabinet behind you as your break the kiss, calling his name incessantly when you teeter over the edge into the sheer bliss that is your orgasm. Charlie’s hips stutter, thrusts becoming erratic while he chases his own release, giving three more rough, hard thrusts until he stills, his cock throbbing as he spills into you.


	35. Car Sex

The clink of a belt, the rustling of a skirt, and heavy, anticipatory breaths sound in the small space of the car that now sits on the side of one of upstate’s less traveled roads.

You’d been testing him all night; a foot trailing up along his thigh beneath the table at dinner, your hand caressing the same spot while he’d been driving you from the restaurant back to the seaside home you’d rented for the weekend.

But his patience couldn’t last, couldn’t wait until the two of you had gotten back. He wanted you right then and there, which is how the two of you ended up here, parked off on the gravel shoulder between the road and the tree line.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hands reaching for you the second that his cock has been freed from his slacks, resting hot and heavy against his stomach.

You help him as he attempts to pull you onto his lap, your leg swinging over to straddle him, the inside of your thighs already coated with your sweet slick. Charlie’s fingers disappear beneath the hem of your skirt to graze against your cunt. “Fuck,” he whispers moreso to himself than you. “You’re so wet already, sweetheart.”

He’s already slipping his middle finger into you when you open your mouth to respond. “I’m— _oh_ ,” you moan when he slips a second finger into you, your hips moving at their own accord above his lap while your hands reach for the leather seat near the headrest. “I’m always wet for you. Only ever yo— _oh! Charlie!_ ” You cant help but cry out when he adds a third finger, filling and stretching you in preparation of his cock.

His fingers curl within you, brushing against the velvety front wall of you, pistoning in and out of you with such speed that the the car is filled with the wet squelch of your cunt. Only then is he satisfied that you’re ready.

Pulling his fingers from you, he grips his cock, coating it with your slick before brushing the head along your wet heat. Your hips move to follow the motion of it, needing to feel him deep, deep, _deep_ within you. “Please,” you sigh when he doesn’t relent. Your hands drop down to his shoulders, fingers curling against the fabric of his button-down. “ _Charlie_.” A whine this time.

Charlie’s other hand settles at your waist to pull you down, and you’re quick to follow his lead, easing yourself down inch by blissful inch onto his cock. He commits this moment to memory, watching how your jaw falls slack, your expression illuminated by only the moonlight that filters in through the glass. “Mmmf— _ffffuckk_ ,” he groans, both hands now moving to grasp your skirt, bunching the fabric in his hands when you seat yourself down onto his lap.

He lets you take the lead, lets you dictate how fast or slow you want to take things in the moment, but he meets you thrust for thrust, hips rising up from the seat when he does so. “That’s it,” he murmurs, the words followed with another groan, this one more guttural than the last. “Want everyone on this road to see you fuck me.” Every word is spoken between labored breaths, the windows already beginning to cloud with the heat exchanged between the two of you.

Off in the distance, a pair of headlights draws closer, and Charlie’s eyes shift from you only momentarily to catch the movement up ahead. Fuck, he loves this; loves fucking you out in the open like this, the thought of the incoming traveler only fueling the pace in which he thrusts up into you. You bounce faster then, hands gripping his shoulders impossibly tighter as you call his name over and over again.

One of his hands dip beneath your skirt, thumb finding your clit to rub the pad against it. You cry out, thighs trembling with the exertion of your movements and also your impending orgasm. “That’s it,” he urges, his other hand slipping around to palm your ass. “Let go. Want to feel it.”

You do let go then, your cunt clenching and squeezing around him, milking him for all he’s worth when he follows close behind. Hands shift once more, this time to grasp your hips, holding you down onto him when he cums just as the other car speeds past.


	36. Critiquing Porn

You _really_ wish you could get into this. Charlie wishes _he_ could get into this.

That was the plan at first, anyway. You’d gotten your laptop out, pulled up PornHub and sent to work, the two of you finding a video you and Charlie felt suited both your desires. But, oh, how regret came fast when you hit play.

Any and all desire to mess around while the video played on in the background flew right out the proverbial window the second you two started watching the ‘acting’ — or lack thereof, as Charlie had put it.

“This scene doesn’t work. It doesn’t make any sense.” Charlie’s brows are furrowed, a look of concentration set firm upon his face.

You can’t help but laugh at that observation as you tuck into his side, his arm sling across your shoulders. “It’s not meant to make sense. It’s porn. People aren’t exactly watching it for the plot. Well, everyone but you, that is.”

Charlie harrumphs at that, his gaze still very much fixated on the small screen. “She’s forcing it, the responses. They aren’t genuine.”

“You don’t say,” you deadpan to which Charlie huffs.

“Even the sounds she’s making. It’s all wrong. The whole video, it’s just... _off_. Poorly done.”

You shift on the couch to turn and face him, his gaze finally breaking away from the computer to look at you. “You know,” you start, middle and index fingers walking up along his chest, “if you _want_ , _we_ could always act it out. You know,” you shrug, “make sure it’s right.”

His displeased look immediately dissipates, replaced with a hunger that hadn’t been there since you’d pressed play on the video. “Swear I won’t fake it either,” you tease.


	37. Appetizer

You do look good enough to eat, don’t you? All bare legs and the dress that you’re wearing draping every curve of your body so perfectly when you hoist yourself up onto the counter to watch him while he cooks. Your legs dangle over the edge, feet gently swaying to and fro. He reaches over with a hand, capturing one of your calves, fingers curling around the limb as much as he can to stop the swing of it. His other hand moves to turn off the burner of the stove.

He’d rather not risk a fire of any kind while he’s about to lose himself between your legs.

“Wait a minute,” you say in mock protest when he parts your legs, eyes already settling on the portion of the dress that covers the apex of your thighs. “I thought we were having dinner.”

“Oh, we are,” he says huskily, hands sliding up along your legs to push the fabric of the dress you wear up to reveal your already glistening cunt. Charlie’s tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight. “You’re my first course.”


	38. Counting Freckles

Fingertips delicately dance across the bare expanse of Charlie’s chest, trailing up along the column of his throat to land on his face. His eyes are closed, but you know he’s awake when a slow smile spreads across his face. Morning sunlight filters in through the window of the small apartment, the light shining onto the bed the two of you remain in.

You’re silent as you count each and every little mole and freckle that dots his skin along his cheek, starting there and resolving to work your way through the entirety of his face. He likes this, not having anywhere to be, just relaxing with you while you explore his body like this. It’s intimate in a way that no one’s ever been with him before; makes his heart sing with a new kind of love and appreciation.

He turns his head then, lips catching your fingertips to kiss the pads of them. You smile at his gesture even if it’d made you lost count. “I’m going to have to start over, you know,” you say to him teasingly.

He chuckles, eyes opening to look up at you as you’re propped up onto your elbow looking down at him. His head nods, eyes closing as he braces himself for more of your touches. “I know.”

Of course he does. That was the point, wasn’t it? He doesn’t ever want this to end.


	39. Riding

You can never get enough of this, enough of him, stretching and filling you up like he is here and now; hands gripping your waist, pulling you down harder onto his cock whilst he thrusts up to meet you. Charlie leans forward, mouth chasing a nipple as it bounces in front of him, lips latching on it just as he rolls the pebbles bud between his teeth.

He can feel it, the way your cunt squeezes him in response, and he groans against your nipple, sending yet another shockwave of pleasure down along your spine. The hands that have delved into his hair tug _hard_ to pull his mouth away from your breast. Charlie follows suit, head tipping back to allow your mouth to crush down onto his own in a hungry kiss that’s all tongue and teeth.

Charlie’s hand removes itself from your waist, slipping between your joined bodies to rub the pad of his thumb against your clit. It doesn’t take you long to cum after that, your cunt clenching and spasming around his cock. His hips grind up into yours, pulling you down to him simultaneously to keep himself rooted deep within you as he cums with a guttural groan against your lips.


	40. Flirting

Charlie’s not an overt flirt, he never has been and never will be. Pickup lines were never his thing.

He’s always been about subtle touches; a brush of his pinky across the back of your hand when you’re standing near him, his hand grazing against your lower back when he passes you. It’s little moments like that that he’s used to flirt with you when the relationship was still so new.

It’s little moments like that that he still continues to do to this day, never letting you forget just how he’d won you over in the first place.


	41. Date

He’s seen you a few times since that window incident occurred a mere week ago, the two of you striking up cordial conversation while you both wait for your coffee orders. On the days that you’re early for work, he’ll invite you to have a seat with him and talk, which you do of course. But today...

Oh, today he’s nervous. He can feel it in the dampness of his palms, wiping them against the outer seams of his slacks, eyes watching the window as he sees you strolling by to make your way for the door. He’s already there in line, waiting for you when you step in, and oh, how your smile punches the breath straight out of his lungs.

He isn’t normally like this, nervous. But there’s something about you that makes his head swim, his brain foggy, and his heart race like no other before you. The two of you fall into such easy conversation in spite of those emotions, and it isn’t until your order’s called out for you to take that he works up the nerve to ask.

“Would you, maybe, want to go out sometime? To some place that isn’t here, I mean.” Charlie swallows, the words thick and heavy on his tongue. You don’t answer right away, how could you, when he’d asked just as you were lifting the cup to your mouth for a drink.

How stupid of him, he thinks.

But there’s that smile of yours again, your tongue darting out to wick away drops of coffee from your lip. His gaze dips down to watch the movement before he forces himself to look back up to your eyes.

“I’d love to,” you reply, and relief floods him then.

You make your plans then and there, decide on a day and a time, somewhere nice but not too fancy. A dinner, Charlie offers to which you accept. Unbeknownst to the both of you now, but this will the first of many, many dates.


	42. Visiting rich!Reader

You’d warned him, told him this house of yours was large. He just didn’t think it would be _this_ big. It’s all stone and wood paneling, sharp edges and modern style right down to the very frame of it. It’s such a stark contrast to what he’s used to, the home is much larger than his apartment, not to mention there is no city here. The home is tucked away in the woodlands of upstate New York, giving you all the peace and quiet you could ever need.

The inside is like something straight out of Architectural Digest with its immaculate appearance, white walls and floor to ceiling windows in the living room that give way to panoramic views of the valley. But the sheer size of it alone... He could get lost in here, he thinks.

“Well,” you ask with a lifted brow, hand on your hips while you watch him look around the open floor plan of the living space.

His gaze snaps back to you, head nodding slightly as a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “It’s nice. Bigger than I expected, but nice.”

Everything about the home screams sleek, stylish, modern, and efficient. It screams of you, and Charlie supposes, if nothing else, that’s what he likes best about it.


	43. Roses

The smooth, delicate petals of a white rose glides down the valley between your breasts, circling around to gently trace around your left breast while Charlie leans down to plant kisses to the right. “You’re so beautiful.”

The words are murmured against your skin, tongue now lolling out to languidly lap at your nipple, the movement of the rose now forgotten when your back arches up into his touch. He huffs out a breath, mouth moving to wrap his lips around the pebbled bud, sucking, licking, and nipping at it until he feels your hands in his hair, tugging at the strands.

He releases your nipple with an audible pop and pulls away just enough to continue tracing your body with the soft rose. “So beautiful,” he says, echoing his previous statement. “And all mine.”

Charlie has to say the words. Of course he does. He still can’t believe that it’s true, that you’re here and you _want_ him every bit as much as he wants you.


	44. Ten Bouquets

He hadn’t meant for it to happen, the fight. It’d just been such a _shitty day_. Rehearsals had gone terribly, the set wasn’t ready in time and everyone had seemingly forgotten the majority of their lines. Not to mention that some of the props had gone missing and they won’t have enough time to get more before the show starts next week.

It had been endless woe upon endless woe by the time he’d gotten home, and the last thing he wanted to do was fight with you. And it had been _so stupid_ , the argument. But he’d left in a huff, wanting to escape the already escalated situation, the two of you having already begun to scream at one another by the time he’d left.

He didn’t want this. Didn’t want his negativity to come home with him, doesn’t want things to head south with you. He needs you. He _loves_ you.

It’s about an hour after the fight that he comes back home, multiple bouquets of flowers in hand. He hovers there, between the threshold of the living room and entryway, bouquet paper crinkling in his hands. You want to be mad at him, want him to realize how upset he’s made you, but you can’t. You can’t. Not when he’s standing there looking at you like some lost puppy with those brown eyes and slight pout.

“ **I wanted to buy you flowers, but I couldn’t remember your favorites, so...** ” He huffs a bit, holding out the multiple bouquets in his hands a little further while he speaks. “ **I ended up buying ten different bouquets.** ”

Despite your best efforts, a smile ticks the corners of your mouth upward, and your rise up from your spot on the couch to take the bouquets from him. “Thank you,” you reply, eyeing up the assortment. He leans down to offer his lips to you then, letting you decide if you’ll accept the gesture or not.

You do. Of course you do.

“I’ll put these in water a little later, okay?” Charlie nods silently in response when you step away to set them down atop the table in the nearby dining space. “Come to bed?”

You hold your hand out for him, and he’s eager to take it, eager to put this all behind him. He hates fighting with you. When his hand slips into your own, you pull him down the hall to the bedroom, turning to reach for him the second you pass the threshold. Charlie follows suit, his hands grasping at your hips, pulling you close, never wanting you out of his reach.

It isn’t long until the two of you are stripped clean of your clothes, collapsed onto the bed and skin slick with sweat. Charlie sits up with you still straddling his waist, his arms winding around you, holding you close while your hips rise and fall over his own. You’ve got one hand settled into his hair, the other pressed against his back, your mouths moving in tandem while tongues dance along one another’s.

It won’t be long now until you’re both lying together, limbs tangled beneath the sheets, the fight long gone from your minds, and the love between you restored.


	45. Acting Classes

This is... **frightening** , standing up on stage _alone_ , in front of a room full of people.

You’d gone over the lines incessantly since you’d gotten them, wanting to ensure that you wouldn’t forget a single one. How embarrassing would that be, forgetting your lines? Inhaling a deep breath, your eyes catch the gaze of one Professor Barber—Charlie, if you remember hearing correctly in passing.

He’s watching you, those hazel eyes taking you in as you steady yourself in preparation to begin, tracking every little twitch of muscle, every inhale, every uncertain movement. It’s unnerving, having his gaze on you like this; like a lion stalking its prey, except...except he hasn’t moved a single muscle. But that gaze. Oh, that gaze says _so much_.

“You can begin,” he says from behind the hand that’s perched up against his mouth, a pen held firmly in preparation of note taking.

You do as you’re told, inhaling yet another deep breath just as you belt out the song chosen specifically for you, specifically for this role. Feet carry you across the stage, and you hope like hell that you’re hitting all the marks, that you’re not disappointing him. Though...why should you care? Sure, you want to do well enough to pass the class. You care enough to do well for the sake of becoming an actress, so...

...why care about _him_ specifically?

Pushing that thought to the back of your mind, you carry on with your lines, with your song, until Charlie’s calling out for you to stop. You do so immediately, steps halting on command, heart rate picking up considerably speed when he pushes himself up and out of his chair. Watching without so much as a sound as he sets his pen and notebook down before crossing the space between the two of you, stepping on stage to approach where you’re standing still as stone.

“Your mark,” he starts, hands reaching for your waist, fingers settling against you and drawing you up closer to him, “is here.”

You’re close now. Closer than you’d ever anticipated being. Daring to look up, your faces so close now, your breath hitches in your throat, and...was that? Had you imagined that glint in his eye? Does he feel this spark that you do? You can feel your pulse quicken at the thought.

This is not at all what you need. You’re career driven, focused. You have to remind yourself of that, especially here and now with Charlie’s hands on you and his plush, pink lips so, so close. Did you just imagine the slight squeeze of his hand on your waist? Oh, no, you think to yourself.

It’s only day three of the class. If this is any indication of how things are to go, then you’re in for a long, long semester.


	46. Broken Sink

“ _Shit!_ ”

The curse emanates from beneath the kitchen sink, the word muffled only slightly by the sound of the rustling of his shirt and the clang of metal on metal. Charlie’s broad shoulders can’t even fit between the too narrow width of the cabinet door, his head shoved up underneath to get a better look while he attempts to fix the leak that’d sprung up earlier this morning.

You’re holding a warm cup of tea in your hands, cradling the mug like it’s something precious, eyes fixated on where he lies on the floor. It never fails to amaze you, even in moments such as these, just how much space he occupies. Lifting the mug up to your lips, you take a sip of your tea before lowering it down, only speaking once you’ve had your fill. “You don’t have to fix that, you know. We could call someone in and have it taken care of.”

“Honey,” he says, emerging from beneath the sink, hair mussed, face flushed, and the collar of his shirt askew, “ ** _I’m_** **your husband**. **This is** _ **my**_ **job**.”

Charlie disappears again into the cabinet to continue his battle with the sink. With a sigh, you shake your head and resign to settle in with a book on the couch until he’s done. At the rate he’s going, this could be an all day project.


	47. Soulmate

They say you know when you meet your soulmate; that it’s this unmistakable feeling, like a crushing weight has been lifted from your shoulders, replaced by the lightest sensation you’ve ever felt in your life. You just _know_ , they say.

Charlie had always thought the sentiment was bullshit. Here he was, thirty-six years into his life, divorced with one child, and never had he experienced such a sensation. Over-hyped bullshit, he’d said. He’d still believed those words this morning as he’d trudged his way from the bed to the bathroom, from his apartment to the theater and back again. He’s in the midst of checking his mail, standing at the rows of P.O. Boxes, his open, rifling through envelope after envelope. Junk mail, the lot of it.

Lightning cracks overhead of the city, rain pouring down in heavy sheets, splattering against the asphalt and rushing in waves towards the city’s storm drains. The rumble of thunder nearly drowns out the sound of your hand on the handle of the door, the lock catching and preventing you from pulling it open. You mutter a curse to yourself and pull harder but to no avail, the door rattling with the effort. It’s then that Charlie’s attention is captured.

His head swivels to see who’s attempting to enter the building, and...

... _shit_. This is it. This is the moment they’d been talking about. It’s immediate, like something you see on a cheesy nineties romance, the ones with the birds singing and music that comes to a crest when the guy falls in love with the girl. That’s it. That’s him and that’s now. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

You give the door another shake, the action shaking Charlie out of his reverie, and he’s quick to move then, lurching forward to push it open and allow you entry. The swirl of the building’s cold air, courtesy of the air conditioner, sends a shiver along your spine, body shaking forcefully as you drip, drip, drip onto the lobby’s linoleum floor.

“ **You’re shaking, love** ,” he says, the words leaving his mouth in a rush, his mind barely catching up to what’s just left his mouth.

“S-sorry,” you stutter, teeth chattering from the cold, arms hugging yourself tight to keep in what warmth you can. “Stupid a-air conditioning.”

He knows you feel it too. He can see it in the way you’re looking at him, knows it when you don’t rush past him to head back to wherever it is you were heading to in the first place. You have no reason to linger here otherwise, and yet...

You take a step towards him, the move hesitant and uncertain.

He’s eager to close the distance between you, arms outstretching to draw you in close to him. “ **No, no–it’s alright, come here.** ”

You sink so easily into the warmth of him, the water that drips off of you now soaking into his sweater. “Come on,” he says, “let’s get you out of the lobby and warmed up.”


	48. An Admission

Blood pumps with such ferocity through his veins that Charlie can feel the pulse of it in his neck, can feel the way his heart leaps with the admission he’s about to make, the thud of it hammering against his rib cage. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this scared of anything in his life.

“ **It’s true** ,” he says, swallowing thickly around the words that have yet dared to leave him.

You’re looking up at him now so expectantly, eyes wide and lips parted just so, hanging on every word that he says. Does he feel this too, whatever this is between you? You certainly hope so. You’ve been hoping for some sort of reciprocation of the things you’d been feeling for him for some time now. Is this the moment? Could it _really_ be?

Charlie inhales a much needed deep breath before he surges onward, needing to get this out into the open; needs to put his heart in your hands. He needs you to know that he’s capable of this, capable of loving again. “ **I’ve loved you ever since I got to know you - and even if you don’t feel the same, I’m willing to accept it**.”

There’s no hiding the smile that stretches across your face then, and the relief that Charlie feels is indescribable. You practically leap into his arms, and he’s quick to catch you, a grin of his own etching itself onto his features. You love him too, and you tell him as much, over and over again into the crook of his neck.


	49. Make Me

“Give it back.”

You’re standing on opposite ends of the dining room table, Charlie’s script in your hand and a look of sheer determination in his eyes. Slowly, your head shakes from side to side. You know how important this script is to him, you wouldn’t _dare_ ruin it, _but_...

This is the only way to get his attention. His nose has been in that script for far too long this week. It’s time he turn his attention to you for a little while. “No.” The look of shock that overcomes his face nearly pulls a laugh from you. “ **You want me to give you back your script? Make me**.”

You can see the wheels spinning in that mind of his, eyes calculating the distance between you. He can’t jump the table, you know that; know that he wouldn’t dare risk a move like that. But he’s thinking, that much you know.

Without hesitation, he darts around the table, eliciting a squeal of surprise on your end, and you, too, take off to put distance between you. Around and around you go, circling the table to keep away from him as he chases you. Laughter escapes you now in between the occasional shrieks when he gets close.

He’s too quick, those damn legs of his giving him too much of a long stride, and soon enough, he’s catching up with you. You scream, more laughter following as you toss the script to the table. Charlie doesn’t relent, arms winding around you to lift you up off the floor, legs danging while he carries you to the living room, depositing you onto the couch. He collapses down on top of you, lips assaulting every bit of available skin on your neck and collarbone, relishing in the laughs, the gasps, every little sound you make in response.

If it’s attention you want, it’s attention you’ll get.


	50. Best Start To the Day

A tickle of hair against the inside of your thighs causes you to shift in your sleep, your head turning against the pillow as you huff out a breath. Something warm and wet follows the sensation, drawing you further from sleep, pulling you back to consciousness. Your hand moves instinctively to the source, fingers delving into the hair that belongs to Charlie as your eyes fly open to find him there, face rooted firmly between your legs.

The fingers of your other hand curls into the sheets, fisting and twisting them, back arching up while your eyes close again, jaw slack as a soft moan escapes you. “Charlie,” you breathe, his name spoken with a sigh.

He responds with another broad lick up along your slit, the tip of his tongue zig-zagging against your clit. Your grip on his hair tightens, and he knows then that you’re close. Fingertips dance upward along the sensitive skin of your thighs, dipping two into you without warning, eliciting a gasp from you, the sound followed by a string of moans. “Yes,” you cry out. “ _Yesyesyesyes_ , just like that, Charlie— _oh_!”

Charlie’s fingers curl to graze along your walls, hitting that spot deep within you that causes you to clench and cry out. His other hand pins your hips down, keeps you from writhing, his assault relentless until, until...

A familiar warm, wet gush can be felt when your release hits, your body trembling with the sensation. Charlie pulls his fingers from you, his tongue eagerly lapping up every bit of you, both of your hands now fisting his hair, tugging to try and pull him off of you.

“ _CharlieCharlieCharlie_ ,” you pant, quickly becoming overstimulated by his ministrations.

It’s only when he finally pulls his mouth from you that you feel like you can finally breath, his body hovering over your own as your legs widen to accommodate him. The head of his cock prods against your cunt just as his lips press to your own, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue when it glides along yours. He flexes his hips forward, slowly, slowly inching himself into you, savoring the feel of your tight cunt as it grips and sucks him in further.

He could do this every morning, he thinks, sinking deeper into you. Then again, more often times than not, he does. You never complain, of course you don’t. How could you?

What better way is there to start your day?


	51. Misery

All day. All day you’ve been teasing him and getting him all riled up; from the dress you’d chosen that just shows off _so much_ , to the way you’d brushed up against him here and there at the wrap party, you’d been driving him _crazy_.

But now...

Now he’s got you right where he wants you.

You’re lying back on the bed, propped up on your elbows, clothes long since dropped onto the floor to lead a trail from the bedroom door to the mattress. “Oh, Charlie,” you tut in mock disappointment as you watch him while he gets undressed, an uncharacteristic pout taking hold of his features.

He says nothing, undressing in silence while you eye him appreciatively as each piece of clothing falls away to the floor below. You tease him still when he climbs onto the bed, hands grasping your knees in preparation to pull them apart. You still resist him then, and he huffs out a breath, the pout still present as ever.

“ **Put me out of my misery and open up those long legs for me**.”

You take mercy on him then, watching as the pout disappears immediately the second you allow him to pry your knees apart, legs falling to the mattress as his face lowers to the apex of your thighs, tongue delving into your cunt. You’d teased him all day, but it was worth it; worth it to make him _this_ desperate, _this_ hungry for you.


	52. Sweltering

It’s sweltering in the city, heat rolls off of the concrete walkways and paved streets, bouncing off of buildings and permeating the apartment that you share with Charlie. Not even the open window is enough to ease the heat, thanks to a lack of wind and humidity that settles into every nook and cranny of the home.

“We really should have invested in a window a/c unit.” Charlie’s seated beside you on the couch, a thin sheen of perspiration covering his skin as he sits in only a pair of boxers that he finds himself contemplating removing.

You’re sitting next to him, fanning yourself with a magazine that was previously destined to go into the trash, head swiveling to look over him just as he lifts a still cold bottle of water to his lips to take a drink. You’re in nothing more than an old, white tank top of Charlie’s and a pair of underwear. “I went looking yesterday. There’s nothing anywhere.”

Every last window a/c unit’s been sold out thanks to the relentless heatwave that’s settled over the city these past few weeks. Out of your peripheral you can see Charlie offering you the water bottle to take your own drink, but when you turn your head, magazine settling down onto your bare thigh, he squeezes the plastic container to completely douse you.

You’re not sure what’s worse, the sheer shock of the cold water permeating the fabric and soaking down onto your skin or the fact that Charlie’s gone and done this. Charlie’s grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary, eyes appraising his now soaked tank top as it clings to your body, pert nipples visible through the wet fabric. You can see it, the way his Adam’s apple bobs with the chuckles that rumble from deep within his chest, but the sound is quickly cut off as you lunge towards him, tearing the bottle from his grasp abruptly.

It’s his turn to be doused now, the remaining water in the bottle spraying out onto his face, neck, and chest.

Once the shock of it has worn off for the both of you, Charlie reaches for you, hands pawing at your hips to pull you towards him, and you’re quick to oblige. You swing a leg over to straddle his waist, water-slicked bodies now pressed up against one another just as your lips meet in feverish kiss.

Your hips roll instinctively against his, drawing out a long, low moan from the back of Charlie’s throat. His hands grasp the hem of the tank top you’re wearing, peeling it up and off of your body, the chill of the water still on your body making you shudder in response. One hand splays across your back, the other palming your ass, helping your movements as your hips continue to rock against his, the fabric giving you all the friction that you need against your throbbing clit.

The kiss is all tongue and teeth, and not even the sweltering heat that filters in from through the open window can stop the two of you now as you lose yourself in one another.

You arch your back, and Charlie takes it as an opportunity to break the kiss, his head dipping down to clasp his mouth around one of your nipples, sucking and nipping at the bud. He can feel your hands in his hair now, fingers tugging with each roll of your hips against his own. It won’t be long now until either of you cum right here, just from this. But Charlie’s resolved to not let the fun end here.

He’ll take you over every surface of this apartment, heat be damned.


	53. Lullaby

There are times, more often than you’d care to admit, where you have trouble sleeping. Insomnia riddles that brain of yours, keeps you up with thoughts that race and body that just won’t _still_.

Charlie knows, can feel how you toss and turn, can hear the sighs that you expel into the darkened room at your frustration. He reaches for you, pulling you to him to press your back up against his chest, his cheek resting against the top of your head. Bleary eyes blink slowly before they close altogether, arms tightening around you in a gentle squeeze.

He’s barely awake, but he’s awake enough to know just what you need.

Charlie sings it to you then, the lullaby you’d grown up with, the only one that helps you fall asleep; hums it softly, lyrics whispered into your hair as sleep comes for you both, pulling you down into a peaceful slumber, your body relaxing into his.


	54. Wheel of Foreplay

You’d been challenging each other the better portion of the night, the click of a mouse and the spin of a wheel dictating what the two of you would be doing next. And now... Now it’s Charlie’s turn to dole out whatever the wheel insists that he does.

He’s opted to stand you in front of the floor length mirror in your bedroom, one hand cupping your right breast while the other glides fingers along the already soaked fabric of your underwear. “Open your eyes,” he says gruffly just prior to nibbling on your earlobe, rolling the soft flesh between his teeth. “Want you to watch me touch you.”

You do as instructed, shallow breaths pushing your breast further into his hand, the fingers of the hand that palms it now pinching and pulling at the sensitive bud. The fingers of his other hand circle lazily around your clit the friction of the fabric along with the pressure his hand applies becoming too much too fast.

A whimper escapes you despite your best efforts to be quiet, and you can see the way Charlie’s lips twitch up into a smirk, can _feel_ how hard he is, his cock pressed up against the crest of your ass. His hips rut just barely as his fingers work against you, trying to pull a moan from you, _needing_ to hear it.

The arm that crosses your body tightens to keep you propped up when he feels your knees buckle slightly at the stimulation, your eyelids fluttering closed again as your mouth drops open.

“Open them,” he instructs, his right hand giving your clothed cunt a quick smack. In an instant, your eyes fly open, and it’s then that it slips past your lips, the moan sounding involuntarily. “Good girl,” Charlie coos, satisfied that he’s won this round.

His fingers push past the elastic waistband of your underwear to glide along slick folds, two fingers pushing into you now to finish what he’d started.


	55. Choke

The springs of the mattress work overtime today, squeaking and squealing in protest of Charlie’s hard thrusts. The wooden headboard knocks against the wall with such ferocity that Charlie thinks he might actually do some minor damage. But he can’t be bothered to care. Not when his day’s been so shitty. Not when you’re letting him use you to release this pent up frustration.

“Choke me.” The words leave your lips in a rush, hands gripping the sheets, fisting the material while Charlie’s fingers bruise your hips.

The movement of his hips stutters, the squeak of the mattress slowing only slightly, brows creasing when he registers what you’ve said. “What?”

Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, but you still manage to make your reply clear and concise. “I want you to choke me, Charlie.”

_Fuck_ , just the thought of it has his cock twitching within you, your cunt responding in kind by clenching and sucking him in further. One hand moves up and away from your hip to settle against your neck, soon followed by the other. His grip tightens, and he’s careful—oh, so careful—not to squeeze _too_ hard.

There’s something in the way your eyes roll from the pleasure of it all, him pounding into you with barbarity coupled with the constriction of his hands on your throat that sends him over the edge in no time at all.

He cums with a shout, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, hands easing their hold on your throat. And, oh, how your cunt clenches and grips him tight when the air fills your lungs, back arching as your own orgasm washes over you with an intensity unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

Charlie resolves right then and there, cock still buried deep within you, lips now moving languidly along your own, that he’ll be doing _that_ more often.


	56. Like What You See?

You’re home early, much earlier than you’d initially anticipated, and Charlie... Well, Charlie’s too wrapped up in what he’s doing to hear you come in.

Your steps are silent once you’ve toed off your shoes, bare feet now carrying you through the apartment, stopping just shy of the open door of the bedroom. Charlie’s groans are audible, even out here in the hallway, and taking a few more steps forward, you spot him on the bed, naked and flushed. One hand is settled against his pelvis, fingers splayed across the skin while his other hand works the length of his cock, the tip red and slicked shiny with precum.

His gaze shifts when you hover at the threshold of the room, though his hand never relents, holding eye contact with you while he continues to stroke himself. “ **Like what you see** ,” he asks through panted breaths, eyes wild and heart racing with you having caught him like this. His cock twitches in his hand, cum beading at the head, and his hand gives himself a squeeze to stave off the orgasm that nears.

Your lips part, and already you can feel just how _wet_ you are for him. “ **Instead of staring** ,” he says, pulling you from your thoughts, “ **you could join**.”

Hands lift to begin removing your clothes as you step away from the door, crossing into the room from the hallway. One by one, garments drop to the floor, leaving a trail to the bed as you climb on.

“Over there,” he says, directing you to the opposite end of the bed with a nod of his head. While you move to where he wants you, he props himself up against the headboard, the two of you directly across from one another.

He decides then that you’re too far, his hands leaving his body momentarily while he reaches forward, pulling you closer by your hips, until your ass is situated between his knees. “Lie back,” he says, back pressing up against the headboard again.

You do as you’re told, lying back on the soft sheets, legs falling open to drape over his. “Touch yourself. Let me see you work that pretty clit of yours.” The muscles of his bicep ripples beneath the skin when his hand resumes the long strokes of his cock, eyes following the trajectory of your hand as it lowers to circle fingers against your clit. “That’s it,” he urges, “good girl. Get yourself nice and wet for me. Want to, _mmff_ , fuck, want to hear it.”

One hand braces against Charlie’s shin, fingers curling against the skin as your other hand continues its ministrations. Your hips move in time with your fingers until you finally, finally move lower to slip two fingers into your glistening cunt. “Charlie,” you sigh, watching him as best you can from this angle, his hand working over the length of his cock furiously.

Every now and again his gaze shifts to rake his eyes over your tits or watch the expressions on your face as you bring yourself closer to your release. The closer you get, the more he can hear it, the obscenely wet squelch of your fingers gliding in and out of your pussy.

“I’m so close,” you moan, hips still thrusting against your fingers, needing any and all friction that you can give yourself in the moment.

Charlie knows. Of course he does. And he’s not far behind. “Go on, sweetheart,” he urges, shifting slightly on the bed, “go on, let me see that pretty pussy swallow up those fingers. Let me see you cum.”

It takes you no time at all after those words to tip over the edge to fall straight into orgasmic bliss. You cry out for him, the hand on his leg falling away as he shifts and moves to sit up on his knees, angling himself so he’s above you now. “Ah, _fff—fuuuck_ ,” he groans, free hand settling on your hip while he strokes himself to completion. It doesn’t take him long, and soon enough, he feels the jump of his cock in his hand as his cum spurts out onto you, painting your stomach and chest with thick, white ropes of it.

He takes a moment to admire how utterly spent you look, how fucking pretty you look with his cum all over you. Charlie reaches down, collecting some onto his middle and forefinger. You know where this is headed, and like the good girl that you are, you part your lips for him, taking the cum as he deposits it into your mouth, tongue sweeping along the pads of his fingers while your lips suck him clean.


	57. Call Your Name

You and Charlie had been seeing each other more frequently since his divorce with Nicole, though either of you had yet to admit your feelings to one another. He’d always been kind enough to let you stay over on those days you’d come over for dinner and stay late into the night watching movies or talking about life, but each and every time you’d stayed in the guest room whilst he remains in the master.

It’s the middle of the night when you get up out of bed, shuffling out of the guest room and stepping out into the hallway to make your way to the bathroom. Careful to avoid the known squeaky floorboards so as not to rouse Charlie from his sleep, you tip-toe your way down the hall. That is...until you hear it...

Just down the hall, there is rustling, the sound followed up with what you t _hink_ is a moan, and... _is that your name_?!

You tip-toe closer, peeking through the tiny crack between the door and the frame. It’s there in the moonlight that you make him out, Charlie’s hand working the length of his cock, breath huffing out through his nose as he suppresses another groan that threatens to rumble up from deep within his chest. His head drops back onto the pillow, one hand gripping the base of his cock, the other now working the head, hips bucking slightly at the sensation.

There is it is again, your name, falling from his lips so easily.

The floorboard creaks beneath your foot when you lean in inadvertently, and his movements halt, head whipping to look towards the door just as you duck away to press your back against the wall.

You wait a moment, listening for any signs of his approach. But when you hear nothing other than his strangled groans and the _slick, slick, slick_ of skin on skin, you exhale a shaky breath, thighs pressing together to ease the throb that’s growing.

A hand slips past the waistband of the underwear you currently don, fingers circling your clit in quick movements, working your way towards your release while Charlie does the same just on the other side of the wall.


	58. Waking Charlie

It’s an every day occurrence, you waking up with your body half splayed out across Charlie’s, legs tangled and your face tucked up beneath his chin. Sleep has finally started to wane, pulling you back into the harsh reality of a new morning.

You stretch your limbs, a soft groan leaving you just prior to your head tipping back to press a kiss to the underside of Charlie’s jaw. He huffs gently in his sleep, the air leaving his nose in a rush, but he remains as still as ever, still caught in sleep’s snare.

Your hand grazes against Charlie’s already hardened cock, an idea forming almost immediately. Smirking to yourself, you slide down along the length of his body until you’re situated just so between his legs, your eyes cast upward to his face. Your tongue lazily licks a stripe up along the underside of his cock, following the bulging vein there. Swirling the tip of your tongue around the head, you soon dip your head down to take as much of him into your mouth as you can, all the while watching him as he sleeps.

There’s a slight stir, a twitch in his fingers and a deep inhale of breath; his head turns, and he arches just so, but when you remove your mouth from him, he relaxes back into his restful state.

Taking his cock, you place it between your breasts, hands pushing them together to keep him in place as you begin to glide them up and down his hardened length. It doesn’t take him long to rouse from his sleep then, eyelids fluttering open and brow creased from the sensation as his eyes find yours.

Charlie’s hands fist the sheets, breathing shallowing the closer you bring him to his release. “Your mouth,” he chokes out. “ _Mm—ffuck_ , I want to cum in your mouth. Want to see you swallow it up.”

Oh, you do. You take everything he gives you, trading your tits for your hand, milking him for everything he’s worth.


End file.
